


Good To Know

by red_crate



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Olympics, Online Dating, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: Alexis is dating a skier competing in the Sochi Winter Olympics, and she thinks this is the perfect opportunity for David to get away and out of the funk he’s been in since his last break-up. David doesn’tdosports. Here he is, however. At least he matched with a cute guy on Tinder while he’s suffering.They already met, but it turns out David and Patrick have a little more in common than a single run-in at the gallery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DelphinaBoswell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphinaBoswell/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> **Story note:** This is set in 2014, in an AU where the Roses never lost their money. I also took liberties with a lot of the in’s-and-out’s of the Olympics, both in how the Games are ran and the timeline of the Games. My NHL is fake (fake teams and players). Please see Jeremy Bearimy for any questions regarding the age/timelines of our SC characters. 
> 
> This fic should not be used as research, is all I’m saying. Lol. Enjoy!

While he’s curled up on the sofa watching a dubbed version of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_, David’s phone chirps on the cushion next to him happily. He almost ignores the message. It’s only Tinder, and he’s not exactly in the mood to field abrupt requests for anonymous hookups. However, his hand moves for the phone on autopilot when he registers the notification is longer than four words. 

_ Patrick12: The world really is a small place. I can’t believe a guy I met at a gallery in NYC here in Russia. _

Confusion and mild intrigue pique David’s interest when he reads the message. At any rate, it’s the most interesting opening gambit he’s received in a long while. It’s enough to have him tapping on the little icon by the man’s name. 

Patrick12’s profile is sparse. No real bio to speak of, only listing his first name, age, and his interest in males and females. David flips through the photos, curious to know how their paths have apparently crossed. 

The first photo is Patrick’s profile picture, which is a decent shot of a guy with slightly curly brown-possibly-auburn hair and almost zero eyebrows. Nothing in his pleasant smile and soft brown eyes looks familiar to David. The second photo is selfie taken in a nondescript bathroom of Patrick wearing a dark blazer and khaki colored dress pants. Lastly, Patrick has chosen a photo of himself standing on a mountainous overlook, sweaty and grinning openly. 

David has no fucking clue what this guy is talking about. He taps back to the DM, reads it again, and hesitates. Curiosity gets the best of him less than thirty seconds later. 

_ TinderDavidR: Hi, sorry, but I am having a hard time placing you. _

_ Patrick12: It’s alright. You probably meet new people everyday. I was at one of your shows last month. _

He sends a second message. This one is an image attachment of an installment David ran back in January. It sold two days after it premiered, bringing in a nice little lump sum for the gallery. Patrick’s shot is uneven and it’s clearly something he sent to a friend via Snapchat. The little black bar across the bottom asks: _ “Do you know what this is supposed to be?” _David rolls his eyes at the message. Not everyone understands high art, and the fact can be exhausting when his life literally deals with it every day. 

_ TinderDavidR: That is a piece on the concept of jealousy. The artist did a whole series on virtues and sins. _

_ TinderDavidR: Do you save all your snaps? _

Patrick seems to type and retype a few times judging by the thinking bubbles that pop up at the bottom of the DM. Finally, he sends—

_ Patrick12: I didn’t save it. My cousin took a screenshot and sent it to our group chat to make fun of me. She’s an art major and gave me and the rest of our cousins a short art lesson then sent me a private message asking why I didn’t invite her to the city more often. _

_ Patrick12: I don’t know why I told you that. Whoops. _

David suppresses a smile at that _ “whoops.” _

_ TinderDavidR: I’m glad it’s not falling on me to educate you on the intricacies and gravity of art. _

His attention, which has been on this little conversation for several minutes while Holly Golightly’s party swings along on the television, is tugged away when the door to his suite opens. Startled, he watches Alexis sashay inside, skirt flowing behind her. 

“David,” she cries out when her eyes land on him. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you ready?” 

David sits up. “Why aren’t I ready for _ what _?” He panics, trying to remember what she’s talking about. They didn’t have plans, and he’d been enjoying the movie. 

Alexis doesn’t stop walking and heads straight for the washroom so she can inspect her reflection. She’s got her hair braided back and she fiddles with some of the wisps hanging by her face. “For dinner. Ernesto is here now, and we’re all going to dinner.” 

David sighs to himself when he imagines having to play third wheel to his sister’s reunion with this month’s boyfriend. Dinner sounds good though. And he doesn’t think he’s in the mood for room service. It always takes so long to get the food after ordering it. 

Alexis turns around with one of those little twisted, plotty smiles on her lips as she walks back into the living area. Pointing at him, she says, “There are some people I want you to meet.” 

Not just Alexis and Earnesto tonight, but a gaggle of some of her friends too. David doesn’t know why he’s feeling so blasé about the thought of entertaining company lately. Maybe because he doesn’t know any of them, and because Alexis has decided to make him her project for the next week. 

His phone dings with a new message, and is a good excuse to ignore his sister. David holds the phone up, feigning intense interest in the Twitter alert he just got. Alexis isn’t deterred. 

She tugs him up off the couch and pushes him towards the bedroom. “Get dressed!” 

David whines, “Don’t touch me!” But he does get changed, and he does go to dinner with Alexis, her boyfriend, and a group of people who end up being fun and loud, but all together not very interesting. 

Later, after he’s stripped out of his Givenchy sweater and folded up his pants so he could change into sleep clothes, David remembers to check Tinder again. He settles back against the pillows on his bed and opens the app. 

_ Patrick12: I could have worse teachers than you. _

Okay, so maybe there’s something to Patrick after all. David is smiling at the flirtatious message. It’s practically adorable. 

David assumes Patrick must be asleep at this time of night, and it has been several hours since the message was sent. He doesn’t know what Patrick does, but he looks like the kind of guy who goes to bed and wakes up early regularly. Whatever it is, David can’t help but imagine it involves numbers or formulae of some kind—something boring and steady. 

He sends Patrick a message anyway, even though he should let the conversation die its natural death. Surely, there’s nothing for the two of them here. Patrick hasn’t even asked for a selfie yet. 

_ TinderDavidR: Any art questions can be sent my way, but I retain the right to redirect you to Google. _

When he wakes up the next morning, he has a message waiting that was sent hours earlier, at six-forty. So fucking early. 

_ Patrick12: Sounds like a deal. _

* * *

David is cold as fuck, even with the down filled coat he has on and the heaters blowing warm air at the feet of the people in his booth. He’s got a soft alpaca scarf wrapped around his neck and over his chin. David is _ cold _. He doesn’t want to be here, breath puffing and disappearing in front of his face as he watches a whole lot of nothing while commentators keep the audience up with who is in the lead and who has had bad luck in the race. He adjusts his toque so both ears are covered, and frowns at the snowy slopes. 

Next to him, Alexis talks animatedly with one of her friends—Amber or Elise or something like that—and she looks _ warm _. She looks like she belongs and is immune to the cold of the winter air around them. 

At least it isn’t snowing anymore. The snow had subsided an hour before the race began, and David had been hoping to use that as an excuse to skip it all together. Alexis had been threatening to make him go, snow or not. Now that he’s here, David is just as miserable as he knew he would be. 

“Excuse me,” he says to Alexis, bumping his shoulder against hers in a way that makes her nose wrinkle. “I’ll be back.” 

Alexis’s expression clears, but her voice is sharp when she asks, “Where are you going? The race is almost over.” 

David knows it is. He can hear the excited voices of the commentators just as well as she can. He huffs. 

“I will be back.” He insists, eyebrows climbing. Explaining he needs to relieve himself isn’t something he thinks should be expected of him. He doesn’t need permission, and definitely not from his sister of all people. 

“David!” She stomps her foot once, but doesn’t press the issue. When David just gives her a flat look, she lifts her chin and turns back to the slopes in front of them. 

Inside, David tugs his gloves off and fishes his phone out of a pocket. The warmth of the building makes his cheeks and nose sting. 

_ TinderDavidR: I’m so sick of the cold. It’s cold everywhere. _

He doesn’t expect a response, but it feels nice to vent. He could have tweeted and gotten at least a few replies and retweets. That’s not what he wants though. He wants to pout and to whine without worrying about looking like a jerk. He has much less invested in Patrick than he does in his followers. 

There’s a response waiting for him after he’s finished in the washroom. 

_ Patrick12: You do know you’re at the Winter Olympics, right? Or were you kidnapped and held hostage? _

David finds a seat by a bank of televisions broadcasting the ski race. He tucks his free hand beneath his right arm to help it regain some feeling. _ Why couldn’t they have stayed inside to watch? _Alexis’s boyfriend wouldn’t have known the difference. 

_ TinderDavidR: I might as well have been. I think my sister has been held hostage enough that she has picked up a few tricks of her own. _

_ Patrick12: Should I be concerned for your wellbeing? Or for your sister’s, for that matter? _

David’s stomach does a pointless little flip when he reads the words. He can’t even place _ why _, because it’s not a come-on. 

_ TinderDavidR: That’s supposedly why my sister roped me into coming here. She thinks I’ve been moping since my last break-up and she’s concerned. _

David regrets sending the message almost as soon as he hits enter. Oddly, it feels equally good to lay it all out like that. Patrick doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t know Patrick. There’s a freedom in being honest without worrying about his image. 

_ Patrick12: How long has that been? _

_ TinderDavidR: A few months. _

Mentioning an ex is a pretty solid deathknell for any burgeoning relationships. _ But this doesn’t feel like that _, David tells himself. It’s a simple conversation with a pleasant person. 

_ Patrick12: It must have been a rough one. I’m sorry. _

Why was Patrick apologizing? It wasn’t his fault, and there wasn’t anything Patrick could do about it. Before David can decide what to say, Patrick sends another message. 

_ Patrick12: Is being here helping distract you? _

The people around David erupt in noise—cheers of elation and some groans of despair—and he has to turn to the side to keep from getting stepped on by a nearby group of enthusiastic fans. He pushes to his feet and heads back outside, slipping his phone into his pocket and pulling on his gloves once more. With the race finished, he needs to make sure his sister doesn’t get swept away somehow. 

Alexis grabs him as soon as he is within reach, squealing “He won!” David wraps her into a hug and grins at the way she wiggles in his arms.

* * *

Talking with Patrick has quickly become something David looks forward to, despite how short of a time they’ve been interacting. He can’t help dwelling on it as he picks out his outfit and gets ready for lunch with Alexis and her friends. David can admit to himself he _ is _ lonely—as lonely (but _ not _ as depressing) as Alexis insists he is. While he has friends of his own, they’re all busy and elsewhere. Most text exchanges feel forced and distant, a fact that he’s been ignoring for some time. He doesn’t know what most of his friends are up to, and isn’t that a little clarifying? 

He sighs. 

This isn’t what Alexis had in mind when she talked him into dropping everything for the Olympics. All this time alone in his suite and shuffling from event to event with people he can’t even pretend to care about (besides Alexis—he will always care about her) has given him too much time to _ think _. 

Somehow, over the past three days, talking with Patrick has become the highlight of his time here. Patrick’s a stranger, but maybe most of the people in David’s life are strangers. At least he knows where he stands with Patrick. 

David flexes his fingers and counts through a few breaths until his mind is clear. This is ridiculous. He’s standing in his hotel suite, getting ready for lunch. There’s no reason to be so melancholic. 

* * *

The next time he’s stuck in a corridor next to Alexis as she flirts with a flock of...speed skaters, maybe? The next time he’s forced to entertain himself and look busy so he doesn’t look _ pathetic _ , David finds himself opening up Tinder and clicking on Patrick’s profile. Looking at the same three boring photos that he saw less than three days ago. He backreads their conversations and thinks about how warm he’d gotten at points during their interactions. The words hadn’t even been very overt or even sexual. And yet David had been affected, still finds himself affected. His heart beats faster as he flips back to the photos and he tries to _ see _ something there that would explain it. 

Patrick was objectively boring at first glance. David remembers the impression he’d gotten with that opening DM Patrick had sent. He hadn’t been impressed, though he’d been intrigued. He’s not impressed now. Except. Except Patrick has wide shoulders and in that formalwear selfie, his neck is exposed thanks to a lack of tie and two undone buttons. David flips to the mountaineering photo, looks at Patrick’s happy, wide smile, and promptly gets stuck on a small scar on his eyebrow where it’s underscored by the sunset backlighting him. It seems the more he interacts with Patrick and the more he looks at these simple selfies, the more David _ feels _. It’s like Patrick is a Photomosaic. To see all the details, one has to study closer. 

They haven’t even seen each other in person since this started. 

Pulled from his reverie, David makes an undignified squeak when his phone chirps happily. A new message notification pops up at the side of his screen. It’s Patrick. 

_ Patrick12: Big day for Canada! _

Alexis has bored of entertaining the ice skaters. She turns to David and expectantly says, “Well?” Her gaze narrows momentarily before she slinks a half step closer to him and hums, asking, “Is there, like, something going on here with you?” 

David drops his hand to the side, phone screen pressed against his hip in an unconscious effort to protect the conversation between himself and Patrick. He rolls his shoulders one way and his head the other, voice louder than he meant for it to be when he says, “Just that I’m possibly dying of hunger while you flirt with every male member of every Olympic team here after promising me food.” 

Alexis hums again, narrows her eyes _ again _ before shrugging off the skeptical look altogether for a bright, “I want a green smoothie.” 

After he’s ordered his meal, David asks Alexis what she is planning to do for the rest of the day. He knows her boyfriend has to practice at some point. He’s been thinking about getting out of the hotel, but there doesn’t seem to be very much to do around here unless it’s related to the Games. 

“Shopping after this with Klaire, Windsor, and Grayson. Ernesto’s thing is at three this afternoon.” Alexis keeps her eyes on her phone, frowning at something she sees there. Her gaze flicks up at David as she asks, “Will you be able to entertain yourself?” 

“Uh, yes?” He says incredulously. “I have plans of my own!” 

Alexis has a tiny little smirk on her mouth, though part of David clings to the warmth of her eyes as she sharply asks, “Ooh, fun! What _ are _ your plans, David?” 

He seethes, crossing his legs, sitting back in his chair, and flexing his fingers in front of him as he defends his statement. “Yes, fun. I’m meeting up with some friends later and going to get-together at Alex’s.” 

His phone buzzes across the tabletop, an easy excuse to look pointedly at it as if proof that he is _ busy _. 

It’s just a twitter notification, but he snatches his phone quickly enough that Alexis can’t tell. He pulls open the Safari window and the open page of the Olympics schedule that he keeps tucked in the background of his phone so he can pretend to know what’s going on around him. He scans the schedule for anything Canadian going on, vaguely guilty feeling that he doesn’t know his own country’s game schedule. Some events have already happened, but he knew he would be missing several, if not most, of them because they have such fucking weird start times thanks to wanting to broadcast worldwide live. Some of these events will be airing at seven in the morning for God’s sake. He can’t imagine anyone caring about any sport enough to be awake that early to watch. 

He messages Patrick back. 

_ TinderDavidR: Got a lot going on today, huh? _

The response is quick, gratifying. 

_ Patrick12: Yeah kinda lol. What about you? _

_ Why _ is everyone interrogating him about his plans for the day? David frowns and shifts in his seat. 

_ TinderDavidR: My agenda is pretty full. There’s this sports thing going on today. _

Their breakfast is served, and he’s halfway through his French toast before he gets another message from Patrick. It’s a photo—the second one he’s sent David now—and it’s of the entrance to an ice hockey rink. 

_ Patrick12: I hadn’t noticed. _

That pulls a confused huff of a laugh out of David. The photo looks like it was taken from the walkway leading to the _ ice _, not from the stands. He frowns again at his phone, before raising his eyebrows when he realizes why Patrick would have access like that. 

_ TinderDavidR: You're with the press? _

He doesn’t know how he feels about that prospect. Like, it makes some sense. Patrick certainly looks like a junior reporter type—earnest and practical with his close-cut hairstyle and generic Nice Guy look. Well, the press isn’t _ nice _. It’s never nice. But Patrick seems to be. And he’s young and probably fresh out of college. This might even be his first major assignment. 

David decides it’s cute. Sports is far enough removed from entertainment that David doesn’t think he is grossed out about associating Patrick with the people who literally make it their business to ruin the lives of his friends. 

On their way back to the hotel, Alexis makes an attempt to invite David along with his friends to go shopping, but he doesn’t want to do that. He, embarrassingly enough, wants to be alone when Patrick messages him next. 

He might be a little bit invested in this whole....flirtation? If it can even be called that considering they’ve been talking for barely more than four days and not a single nude has been exchanged. The word “cock” hasn’t been used _ once _. 

But it still feels like...something to David. He’s _ invested _, whatever it is. 

When he checks the schedule again, he realizes the Canadian men’s ice hockey game is in full swing. David is lying across is bed, and almost considers turning the television on even though everything will be in Russian. Watching a sporting event that he doesn’t care about, and in fact has semi negative memories associated with, just for the sake of hoping to catch a glimpse of Patrick’s face in the press pit of a cameras swings by, is simply _ too _ pathetic for even him. 

He takes a nap instead. 

Patrick replied not too long before David woke up feeling groggy and cold from sleeping on top of the covers. 

_ Patrick12: Definitely not the press. _

There’s a grimacing emoji next to it. 

David reads the little square notification on his lock screen, blinking blearily at it as he sits up. While he unlocks his phone, another message comes through. 

Another photo. 

“Um, what the fuck?” David practically shouts into the empty hotel room. His other hand has twisted up in the comforter below him. 

It’s a selfie. 

It’s a selfie of Patrick with a flushed, sweaty face, and his hair is a little longer—it’s got some wave to it now—than in the photos from his profile. Patrick is in a very tight, black shirt that hugs his shoulders and is almost enough to distract David from seeing the locker behind where Patrick is sitting. There are little cubbies above his head with sneakers and a pair of skates stuffed in them. Hanging on the wall of the locker behind Patrick is a rumpled white jersey. David can see the edges of the red Maple Leaf. 

David stands up suddenly, phone clutched in one hand, the other flung out to the side as he repeats, “What the actual fuck?” 

He drops the phone to the bed then, and covers his face with both hands so he can muffle the very loud groan he lets out. He feels marginally better afterwards, and immensely grateful he had been alone when he found out. David thinks about deleting the app from his phone, but after he flops back down and actually picks up the phone to do just that, David purses his lips and _ doesn’t _. 

He opens the messages, looks at Patrick’s splotchy face (like this, his poor, pale eyebrows are practically invisible). Something ugly twists inside his gut, and he goes hot and cold all down his back as a thought hits him. 

Before he can think better of it, he shoots off a message to Patrick. 

_ TinderDavidR: Please tell me Sebastien Raine isn’t there. _

He doesn’t get a reply. Patrick probably went straight to shower after sending that selfie. He probably reaked from playing. Because Patrick is a hockey player. Because Patrick is playing for Team Canada. 

David does what he should have done before sending that message. He googles the men’s hockey team roster. Sebastien Raine is the fucking captain. 

Fuck. Of course he is. Of course David would run into his past halfway around the world. It’s the fucking Olympics, what did he really expect? It’s been several years since they dated, but even back then, Sebastien had been kind of a big deal. David didn’t need to pay very close attention to sports to recognize the fanfare Sebastien drew whenever he was out in the city. He’d told David he wanted to protect him from the craziness of it all. 

Later, David had figured out that wasn’t Sebastien’s main reason for sparing David the limelight. 

David fiddles with the rings on his right hand for a few minutes as he stares at the black screen of his phone where it’s gone into idle. He opens Safari and scrolls back up the roster list until he sees Patrick _ Brewer _, number 12—Jesus, fuck, this boy’s username was as unoriginal as it gets. 

He googles Patrick next and feels gross about it. That doesn’t keep him from skimming over the Wikipedia article. It doesn’t tell him very much, except Patrick is apparently a defenseman for the Newark Wolves and was drafted fourth overall by Newark five years ago. He’s twenty-three. 

David grimaces. Twenty-three feels like a fucking long time ago to him. 

He swipes up through the articles below the Wikipedia link on Google. Most of them are about Newark’s progress, some are injury reports. David hesitates when he sees an article from Deadspin with Patrick’s name highlighted as a keyword. He clenches his teeth and clicks the link. Patrick is mentioned _ once _ and only because he is in the photo of two other players that the article is actually about. There had been a skirmish of some sort between a group of players and some fans. In the photo, Patrick is holding a teammate back, head tucked down with a frown on his face as he says something. 

Since he’s already on this road, David types in Sebastien’s name. He hasn’t done this is _ years _—hasn’t actually thought about Sebastien very much in half that time. When he clicks “search,” there are at least three times the results that Patrick got. David doesn’t look at the image search results, but one of the top five links includes a thumbnail of a magazine cover where Sebastien is nude, the angles of his body position covering any private area revelations. His eyes bounce from the thumbnail up to the top result which announced Sebastien had been named the captain of Team Canada for the men’s ice hockey team. 

He closes Safari and puts his phone on airplane mode in a last ditch effort to save himself from a nice little anxiety spiral. 

David takes a long shower where he conditions his hair and exfoliates his body. As he air-dries, sitting at the vanity in his washroom, David uses every piece from the pared down selection he keeps in his travel case. He’s stalling, making himself busy to keep from snatching his phone up and texting his friend Julie for her assistant to find him Sebastien’s number. 

After close to two hours, his stomach is growling for food and he takes a breath. He feels calmer now that his skin has been properly hydrated and cared for. Every hair is in place and his rings are shiny and smudge free where he’s arranged them on his index and middle finger. 

His phone chirps several times after he takes it off airplane mode, a few text messages rolling in, a missed FaceTime with Alexis, and two Tinder notifications. 

The texts are from Alexis as well. She’d been trying to get his opinion on a few pieces from one of the boutiques she and her friends had stopped to peruse. He doesn’t reply to her snippy texts. 

_ Patrick12: Fraid so. _

_ Patrick12: You there still, David? _

He wonders if this isn’t a sign from the universe that he should give up dating altogether. This thing with Patrick isn’t anything substantial. Knowing Patrick is on a team playing with Sebastien should be enough of a reason to block Patrick and forget all about him. 

Still, David finds himself responding to Patrick. 

_ TinderDavidR: Yep. I was busy. _

_ TinderDavidR: I didn’t realize you are here for work. _

A thought bubble pops up at the bottom of the message, goes away, comes back. That cycle repeats for almost a minute. Each second that ticks by drives David a little bit crazy. 

_ Patrick12: That’s one way to put it, I guess. Maybe I should have been clear about it. We never discussed what we are doing in Sochi. _

_ TinderDavidR: Why are you on Tinder? _

David can’t help asking the question. Since he realized who Patrick is, he’s been mulling over the fact that Patrick has himself listed publicly as interested in both women and men. He almost wishes he had searched “_ Patrick Brewer boyfriend _ ” before he’d sworn himself off Google. _ Anyone _ could find Patrick on Tinder, and David thinks if the right reporter got that information it would cause at least a little trouble for Patrick. Unless Patrick was out. Which maybe he was? Because he has himself listed openly for anyone with an account to see. It didn’t seem very prudent to be so obvious. 

David remembers how this sort of thing typically goes in the sports community. 

Patrick cuts his thoughts short with a vague reply. 

_ Patrick12: My friend told me I should give it a shot. _

David frowns. 

_ TinderDavid12: And how is that going for you? _

_ Patrick12: Not bad. I don’t have a whole lot of time to chit chat. I’ve only met the one person, and they’ve been holding my attention pretty well. _

David warms at that, frowning harder. This is all so confusing. 

_ Patrick12: Why are you on Tinder? _

That’s fair. It also makes David roll his eyes. 

_ TinderDavidR: First of all, I forgot I left it turned on before leaving NYC. Secondly, because have you tried meeting people IRL? Total nightmare. Not that dating apps are a wealth of prospects either at least I can filter this way. _

There’s a pause for a couple minutes. David opens his text messages and finds Nautia’s last message. Distraction is probably a good idea. He types out a quick invitation to dinner if she’s in the area, just for something to do. He thinks she was in Russia last week for a modeling gig. Maybe she’s still here. 

_ Patrick12: Nice to know I passed your screening process _

Except Patrick hadn’t. The only reason David had responded was because Patrick mentioned their previous meeting. David wouldn’t have swiped right on Patrick on his own. 

_ TinderDavidR: Well, you’re still in the preliminary screening process. _

_ Patrick12: Oh, so there’s a whole process to getting your stamp of approval _

David huffs. He lies, because he wishes it were the truth. Because he thinks Patrick will like it better this way, even if David should be cutting everything off between the two of them. He lies because he doesn’t want to stop. Sebastien was a shitty chapter amongst many shitty chapters of his life, and David has been attempting to write a happier one for himself (even if Alexis has very loud doubts about it). 

_ TinderDavid12: Of course there is. _

_ Patrick12: Is it a point system? Do I get a gold star for every benchmark I pass? _

_ TinderDavidR: Gold stars, because I like pretty things. _

_ Patrick12: And not because were at the Olympics and you want to match the theme? _

David feels like Patrick is teasing him, and he clears his throat in an attempt to expel the overwhelming warmth building up inside. The easy way Patrick talks about why he’s in Sochi and how he keeps being just slightly flirty makes something unclench in David’s chest. 

_ TinderDavidR: Coincidence. _

_ Patrick12: How many gold stars do I have then? _

_ TinderDavidR: I’ll let you know when you’ve earned one. _

_ Patrick12: This isn’t a fair scoring system. I want to make a complaint to the board _

_ TinderDavidR: Sorry, the board isn’t accepting feedback. _

_ Patrick12: Guess I’m going to have to try harder then. _

_ Patrick12: Does my goal in the game count for anything? _

He can’t help it, the way Patrick was flirting makes David feel wanted and liked. He shouldn’t encourage it. He wants to though. He likes the way Patrick’s flirting has just enough edge in it to feel genuine, complementary to David’s own prickliness. 

_ TinderDavidR: I’m not into sports, so no. _

_ Patrick12: Why on earth are you at the Olympics if you don’t like sports? _

_ TinderDavid: My sister is dating a sports guy. It’s a whole...thing. _

_ Patrick12: Sports guy? _

_ TinderDavidR: He skis. He’s French. She came to watch him ski, and she insisted I accompany her. My sister hasn’t had the best luck when traveling abroad. _

_ Patrick12: I remember something about hostage situations. It's good that you tagged along. _

_ TinderDavidR: Yes, I’m very giving like that. _

_ Patrick12: lol _

_ Patrick12: I’ve gotta go. Sports stuff to do. You know how it is. _

_ TinderDavidR: Not really, but okay. Ttyl _

* * *

David still doesn’t know what to do with this new information about Patrick. The loudest emotion he has is embarrassment for not even considering that Patrick might be an athlete here. While there are hundreds of thousands of spectators and press and support people here for the Olympics, there are also at least a thousand people here who are actually competing too. The odds can’t be that astronomical that he would end up matching with a very fit, kind of dorky hockey player. 

Ugh, but then he’s back to remembering Sebastien and the humiliation of that whole thing. 

David spends too much time reliving the very special humiliation of trying to love someone like Sebastien. Looking back, David knew he hadn’t been in love. It had just been the current vehicle he was taking down an avenue looking for validation and desire. David wanted to be loved. He wanted to _ love _, but he was always falling for the next person who said two nice things about him. He’d done anything to keep the praise coming back then. 

He knew he wasn’t as far away from that mindset these days as he liked to pretend he was. But, damn it, he was making a fucking attempt. 

It really was shitty how things were being messed up all over again. 

Flinging himself across his bed again, David holds his phone in hand and debates what to do. 

God, does Patrick _ know _ about him and Sebastien? 

Cold creeps down his back at the thought of Sebastien gossiping about him. But. Surely that wouldn’t be the case. Even David isn’t as self-involved as to think Sebastien cares about what David is doing these days. 

Patrick doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would work this hard for a cheap joke or a hookup. David ignores the doubt niggling at the back of his head which snidely says, “_ You have a terrible track record with gauging the intentions of others. _” It’s a loud voice, and too familiar, but he decides to stop letting his ingrained negativity dictate things. 

It’s getting late. He can’t decide if Patrick’s silence over the past few hours has been out of necessity—David knows the life of a professional athlete is busy—or if it is Patrick’s way of giving David space to adjust his perception of who he’s been talking to. Maybe that’s a bit too generous. 

He scrolls through their messages again and flips to Patrick’s profile to look at the same three photos he has practically memorized. 

Patrick is _ nice _. 

There’s no reason David should let his demons and past stand in the way of some fun with a nice guy. It doesn’t have to go anywhere, but it doesn’t have to be this angst heavy dilemma either. 

He switches back to their conversation. 

_TinderDavidR: How is your night going? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is longer than I expected it to be.

_ Patrick12: Are you here yet? Message me when you get here, and I’ll meet you outside.  _

So polite. David smiles down at his phone while the Uber drives recklessly through the dark, crowded streets. He types a reply as the car jolts to a stop. The woman driving doesn’t look back at him but waves over her shoulder as he says a rushed thanks and climbs out of the backseat. 

Only a few hours earlier, he’d been spiraling with uncertainty and anxiety over the connection between his past and this random nice guy he’s been talking with. Now, he’s heading into a club to meet up with Patrick and attempt to figure out where he really wants to go from here. Bad or good, the night will end, and just maybe David will have an answer.

Smoke and laughter hang in the air, mixing with the pulse of the music spilling out of the building in front of him. David is no stranger to dance clubs in foreign lands, and he maneuvers himself through the entrance and pays the cover charge so he can get an annoying paper bracelet around his wrist. It’s when he’s frowning down at the neon green band that he realizes someone is heading straight for him. 

Patrick is there, in the flesh and  _ real.  _ He stops just shy of a foot away, and David doesn’t miss the slow once over he gives. It’s gratifying even when David specifically chose this outfit because he  _ knows  _ he looks good in it. 

“Wow.” Patrick says before clearing his throat. It’s cute. He says, “Hi, David.” 

The club is way too loud for any real conversation, but something in the way Patrick’s voice curls around his name has David thinking about all the different ways he could get Patrick to keep saying his name. 

Tugging down the cuff of his leather jacket so the garish bracelet is covered, David smiles and says, probably too quietly for their surroundings, “Hi.” 

Patrick moves closer and places a hand on David’s arm as he leans in to ask, “Why didn’t you wait? I was coming out to get you. Could have saved you cover charge.” He pulls back, but doesn’t drop his hand and doesn’t step away. 

David looks down. Patrick isn’t short, but he’s definitely not tall. Part of David feels surprise over being taller than Patrick considering the other man’s career path. Most of the hockey players David has met were his height or taller. The height difference is a good excuse to do some of his own leaning, however. When he does, he likes the faint scent of cologne mingling with fresh sweat that drifts up from Patrick’s neck. 

“Don’t worry about it!” He says louder this time, as a fast song with lots of bass starts up.

His eyes are stuck on the length of Patrick’s throat exposed by the open collar of his dress shirt. David feels like he should be judging Patrick for walking around with three buttons undone, but his lizard brain is very much into it. 

Patrick catches him looking, but doesn’t say anything about it. He just smirks a little and squeezes his fingers around David’s bicep. “Come on, we’ve got a group of tables on the second floor.” 

This was the part David hadn’t been looking forward to. When he hesitates, Patrick turns back. His hand drops from David’s arm and presses lightly to his side, comforting when he doesn’t owe it. David can’t ignore the way he reacts to the touch. The twisted up feelings in his chest unclench.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. He’s not here,” Patrick says somewhere close to David’s ear. When he pulls back he’s frowning. “It’s just some of my buddies and some friends.” 

David’s mouth opens to ask why Sebastien  _ isn’t  _ one of Patrick’s buddies or friends. Sebastien, from everything he remembers about the man, was always well liked and good at smoothing over the people who didn’t like him. David likes Patrick a little bit more after seeing the hard look in his eyes when he’d reassured him that Sebastien wouldn’t be around tonight. 

He nods, “Okay,” and takes a step in the direction that Patrick had tried to lead him a moment ago. Patrick’s hand curves around David’s waist to his lower back. It’s warm and present, even through the leather of his jacket and the cotton of his tee. 

They make it up the winding metal stairs that lead to the second floor, all the while David is very conscious of Patrick walking a few steps behind him and that hand still pressed lightly to his back. As if David would somehow get lost on the stairway that barely fits two people shoulder to shoulder. He’s able to see the tables and booths spread across the framework of the floor. This is one of those generic old manufacturing buildings-turned-clubs that are popular in every fucking city David’s ever visited. It’s a comforting thought—to know no matter where he is in the world, there will always be some overpriced club spinning house music while scantily clad, beautiful people writhe on the dance floor. 

When they reach the landing, Patrick presses his fingers more firmly, silently directing him to the left, away from the railing overlooking the dance floor. Four steps and David’s up against a support beam with Patrick standing close, taking up much more space than David would have given him credit for. 

Anticipation courses through David at the dark look in Patrick’s eyes. 

“I’m really glad you came tonight.” Patrick is so earnest about it. 

David leans back against the metal beam behind him and takes a breath. Patrick’s gaze is still so heavy with intent, and David doesn’t know what to do with that direct earnestness washing over him. He’s done a lot of dating and a hell of a lot of hooking up, and David doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone with this technique. 

It’s. It’s definitely doing things for Patrick. And David. 

He’s forgetting just how stressed he’d been earlier tonight in his hotel suite. The anxiety and uncertainty of placing Senastien and Patrick in the same headspace feels miles away when he looks at the man before him.

He should say something like “ _ Thank you for inviting me _ ,” but David’s stuck looking into Patrick’s eyes, which are darker brown in the dim lighting of the club, yet somehow still warm. David feels like he could fall into those eyes. It’s...a lot. 

He nods awkwardly, mouth pulling down where he’s trying not to grin openly. After a beat too long, he says, “Sure.” 

Patrick’s mouth quirks up on one side in amusement, David thinks. He steps back and leaves a more appropriate amount of space between their bodies and clears his throat before waving a hand out to direct David towards the tables.

Two hours later, David is nicely buzzed and over-warm. “Worst part about drinking,” he complains conversationally as he leans back in his chair to shrug off his leather jacket. He’s already got a sheen of sweat over his forehead, and he’s not thinking about the fact that his hair has probably started to wilt. 

Patrick looks flushed all the way down his neck and chest. Whenever Patrick spreads his arms or rolls his shoulders just so, David imagines that top done button popping off and exposing the rest of his chest. He would be embarrassed over just how thorough the fantasy has become in such a short time if David actually had any shame left in him after three drinks and two shots. 

He doesn’t miss the way Patrick’s gaze practically caresses over him when the jacket comes off. 

“Need some water?” Someone thuds into the chair next to David. He dumps a small haul of bottled water onto the table in front of them. “Hydration is key, man.” 

David takes the offered bottle, shooting the man next to him a skeptical look. It’s one of Patrick’s teammates, and he’s called something offensive. 

“Schitty,” Patrick frowns even as he cracks open a bottle of his own. “What happened to that girl you were talking to?” 

David watches as the other man shrugs slowly before chugging down the entire contents of a bottle. When Schitty comes back up for air, he grimaces, “Her boyfriend showed up?”

_ Great _ , David think as he sips at the water which tastes sweet after drinking vodka. He’s been enjoying himself pretty well so far, but Patrick had been able to sort of segregate them off to the side so he and David could pretend to be alone. It looks like that illusion is being shattered now.

Patrick leans in, elbows on the table. The shift in position makes the front of his shirt gape, and David can’t help wondering what his nipples look like and if there is any hair on his stomach. “Why don’t you buy a drink for that redhead over there? She’s your type.”

Schitty’s eyes track to where Patrick nodded towards a couch where several attractive women are gathered. It looks like they’re a group of friends out for the night, all dressed in tight jeans or tight dresses, hair done up smoothly. The redhead in question smiles softly over at Schitty just as all three men look at her. 

“Yeah,” Schitty says, distracted. David exchanges an amused look with Patrick before Schitty looks back at them. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” He spares a moment to tease Patrick, gaze going back and forth between he and David. “Having trouble closing the deal, Brews?”

It’s the first time anyone has outright addressed why David is here. Suddenly, David feels a little more sober as his stomach clenches. He stares at his water bottle and slowly screws on the cap. 

“Yeah, your ugly face pelt is ruining my game. Go away,” Patrick teases right back, relaxed as he throws his own bottle cap at Schitty’s face. 

“Hey, this beard has gotten me laid plenty of times.” Schitty combs his fingers over his jaw and the medium length beard there. “Don’t hate because you can’t grow a play-off beard to save your life.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes, smiling as he says, “I guess you keep your beard year round because you’ve never been to the playoffs.”

David’s sort of fascinated by the back-and-forth between Patrick and his teammate. It’s not a side he’s seen from Patrick before now. It’s cute, if juvenile (not that David is all that above acting juvenile himself). 

“Fuck you,” Schitty says with a laugh. He stands up, and looks down at David, “Wait until you see a photo of his little wispy Movember mustache before you agree to sleep with him. It’s fucking tragic.” With that, he cackles and heads off towards the redhead. 

Patrick groans, dropping his face into his hands. When he looks back up, David tries to fight the smile threatening to stretch across his lips. Patrick’s expression is so  _ boyish _ . “It was for a charity.”

David nods sagely. “Of course it was.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, David looks at Patrick from below his lashes and asks, “Should I Google it?” 

It’s clear Shcitty’s advice is still hanging between them, when Patrick swallows. David follows the undulation of his Adam’s apple, and he  _ wants _ . Patrick’s lips part, tongue swiping out across the bottom, as he holds David’s gaze. 

After a beat too long, Patrick reaches out to gently push David’s hand holding the phone down to the tabletop. “Not yet. I don’t think my ego can take the blow.” 

Oh. 

David nods a little too quickly, “Mm, I suppose keeping the mystery alive is a good call.” He clings to the fact that Patrick’s fingers haven’t moved away from where his hand rests over David’s. 

He wants to let go of the phone and wrap his own fingers around Patrick’s wrist so he can pull him closer, lean in and kiss those red lips. But the relieved smile Patrick sends his way has David thinking maybe the two of them aren’t quite on the same page. 

He slides his hand out from beneath Patricks’s and pockets his phone. As the music pulses around them, silence stretches for one, two, three seconds. 

As each second passes, David feels the butterflies in his stomach dying one by one, falling like stones. 

Patrick stands up suddenly, “Do you wanna get out of here?” He winces and corrects himself, “To talk?”

David wonders if he’s somehow read everything wrong. He’s too buzzed right now to parse his thoughts, but dread is setting up shop in his head. Maybe the casual teasing from that teammate wasn’t what David thought it was. Maybe David was misremembering the way Patrick had been looking and touching him tonight. None of it had been untoward after all. 

Hockey players, from what David remembered, were freakishly tactile and flirty. Could he have read too much into all of it? Had Patrick just been looking for a friend when he reached out to David through Tinder?

David grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and stands up quickly. “I should really head back to my hotel.” He doesn’t meet Patrick’s eyes as he slides his arms into the jacket. “Alexis said something about an early race for her boyfriend tomorrow.”

Not that David has any intention of traipsing outside before ten AM. 

He smiles weakly at Patrick, unable to keep from looking at him any longer. “This was...nice. Thanks.”

A hand reaches out for him as Patrick steps into his personal space. Patrick says, “Hey, wait, David.” He snaps his mouth closed, swallowing again, before hesitantly asking, “Can you stay up a little longer?”

David bites his lips together, rolling them between his teeth as he weighs his options. He should really save himself any further embarrassment and insist on leaving. But Patrick is looking at him with those earnest eyes, and David feels his resolve crumble instantly. 

He tugs on the bottom of his jacket, straightening it, as he says, “A  _ little _ longer.” 

Patrick rewards him with a beautiful smile. His fingers briefly squeeze David’s forearm. “Thank you.” The words are too quiet, lost against the music, but David can read them on his lips. 

He follows Patrick back down the stairs and across the shadowed first floor, using the excuse to stay close. They hadn’t danced at all, and David enthusiastically regrets not getting a chance to feel Patrick up against him, pressed close. The regret is stronger when he imagines that might have been his only chance. 

When they get outside, David’s eardrums feel like they’re vibrating from the sudden absence of pulsing music beating against them. The wind whipping around down between the buildings is ice cold, and the sweat on his skin evaporates almost instantly. He shivers, shoulders rising as he folds his arms across his chest. 

Patrick’s dress shirt is covered by the thick blue coat he retrieved on their way out from the coat check. “Here,” he says, holding out a toque he pulled from one of the pockets. “You look a little cold.” His smile is soft, teasing. 

“I wasn’t expecting to be out in the elements for very long,” David defends his choice in fashion as he pulls the knit hat over his head. It’s a small comfort, but one he appreciates. 

“An Uber is coming,” Patrick assures him. They stop along a street corner which is eerily clean of typical urban trash in the gutters. 

He turns to David, brows tilted down in concentration. “I know I already said it, but I’m really glad you came out with me tonight.” He shrugs with an elbow, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, towards the club. “I couldn’t bow out tonight without causing a headache for myself later.” 

“Celebrating is important,” David offers. It feels like the Canada game was ages ago, but it was only earlier today. 

Patrick nods, “It is. But, I needed to make sure you and I were okay. So when you agreed to meet me here, it was a relief.” He’s looking at David with those warn, earnest eyes again, and David’s walls feels like they could break at any minute. 

A black SUV pulls to the curb as Patrick’s phone dings in his hand. The Uber is a good excuse to put some distance in his thoughts and take a breather. When he’d agreed to meet with Patrick, he’d been hoping to end the night with a clear answer of what he wanted to do. But with Patrick’s hot-and-cold act, Davids finds himself with more questions than he started out with. 

It’s a short ride to their destination. David recognizes the area, once he steps out of the SUV. 

Patrick is right behind him, and says, “When I thought about us meeting for the first time, I was planning to take you here.” He chuckles lightly. “This isn’t how I expected the night to go.”

The rush of water is a soothing sound as David looks at the dark fountain and sculpture. His breath puffs in front of his face, and he imagines the planned date Patrick referenced. Would there be hot chocolate? Wine? Huddling close as they watch the show before them? The Singing Fountains are vaguely on Alexis’s list of things for them to do at some point, but David is glad they hadn’t made it out here yet. 

“The show is supposed to be pretty amazing,” Patrick says next to him. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

David smiles, looking down. Patrick’s voice sounds hopeful. Glancing at him from the corner of his eye, David says, “I’m sure it is more entertaining with the music and the lights.”

“Yeah, it probably is,” Patrick agrees. He reaches out again, turning David to face him. “I don’t...I’ve really enjoyed tonight, but I can’t help feeling like things are still a little weird between us.” 

David’s cheeks and nose are starting to prick from the cold, though the winds are blessedly less strong here. The alcohol in his veins keeps the chill at bay just enough to keep him from being miserable. Patrick looks similarly cold, even with the warm coat, but he looks equally determined to suss things out between them. 

With a deep breath, David closes his eyes and mentally braces himself before speaking. “I may have been slightly...surprised by the revelation that you play hockey.” He opens his eyes, lips tipped down in a deprecating smile. “I don’t  _ do _ sports.” 

Patrick nods, “Right.” He’s smiling just a little, encouraging. 

David sucks in another breath before releasing a nervous little hum. “Specifically, I have some baggage when it comes to hockey.” He pulls his hands from where they’d been crossed over his chest and waves them at his sides. “And what are the fucking odds that you would be here for that!”

Two firm hands reach out to carefully guide David’s arms down by his sides as Patrick steps closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming with what I’m doing here.” His gaze slides away as he chuckles. “When I reached out, I wasn’t expecting much more than a conversation. I sort of guessed I wasn’t your usual type, back when we first met in New York.”

David winces. While the fact that he’s been with a wide range of people is a point of pride for him, David knows he does have a usual type--uniquely attractive, moody, and hard to please. Patrick doesn’t seem to be either very moody or hard to please. He is pleasant, and a whole different puzzle than David is used to working. 

He says, “I like many types of people.” David pauses to let that sink in.

Patrick’s eyebrows go up, and he says, “And as someone who doesn’t do sports, you’re saying you would have been immediately into the idea of being with a hockey player?” 

Mouth opening, then closing, David huffs. “You aren’t supposed to use my own words against me.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Patrick teases, before he continues. “What I was trying to say, is that I didn’t have very much hope in keeping your attention when I sent that first message, but I’m really glad something clicked. I hope that whatever your baggage with hockey is, we can continue to talk.”

Patrick has shifted just a little closer, body warmth seeping in through the thin layers of David’s jacket and shirt. David feels mesmerized despite that anxiety that crept back into his head when they left the club. The tension between them presses along David’s skin, and he feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin if they don’t kiss. 

“I like talking to you,” David confesses in the diminished space. His eyes drop from Patrick’s to Patrick’s mouth where it’s red from the cold. 

Patrick’s hands are still wrapped around David’s arms. He moves them to David’s waist, and David thinks, “ _ This is it _ .”

Instead of kissing him, however, Patrick takes a deep breath and tightens his fingers in the leather of David’s jacket before letting go altogether, stepping away. He’s smiling, but it’s tentative. “I want to kiss you, really, really badly.”

The words barrel out of his mouth. “Then kiss me!” And David presses his lips together with embarrassment when Patrick’s eyes go wide with surprise. 

Patrick laughs this sudden thing that echos around them in the wide open space of the fountains. He bites the sound off, teeth denting his bottom lip, before he apologizes. “I’m sorry. Really!” He catches David when David tries to step away. His hands grip the leather of the jacket tightly. “I can’t kiss you.”

David wants to scream. This wille-he-won’t-he is infuriating, and David is rethinking the whole “easy to please” thing. 

Patrick can see where David’s thoughts are going, because he says, “I know. If you’re frustrated, multiply it by a thousand and you might be close to my level.” He ducks his head to try and catch David’s eye. “I doubt it’s going to do anything for your dislike of sports, but I can’t kiss you because I’m in the middle of a tournament.” 

Blinking, the words settle over David and he realizes what Patrick means. “You can’t kiss me because you’re superstitious?” His outrage and shock aren’t quiet, words bouncing around them. 

“Yes,” Patrick closes his eyes, looking appropriately embarrassed for himself. He leans his head forward so it rests against David’s shoulder. He mumbles a sad sounding, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.” 

“It’s not ideal,” David agrees. He can’t help smiling now that he knows the reason for Patrick’s back and forth. It’s easy to raise his arms and slip them over Patrick’s shoulders. Tipping his head just slightly, his mouth brushes against the soft curls on Patrick’s head. “But, as long as you  _ want _ to kiss me, I might be able to deal with it.”

Patrick lifts his head. His smile is sweet before his expression flickers darker. “Oh, I want to kiss you.” 

Another shiver went through David, but this one wasn’t because he was cold. His arms curled tighter around Patrick’s neck. Their lips were so close. It would be easy to cross the scant distance. “How badly?”

Patrick seems to consider the question, gaze heavy on David’s face. He leans in almost imperceptibly, before he steps back and drops his hold on David’s jacket. “It’s late, and you said you have the ski competition to go to in the morning.” He’s smirking down at his phone as he orders another Uber. 

David hates how much Patrick is doing it for him. He hums and nods, feeling like they’re sharing a secret. 

David is dropped off at his hotel first, but Patrick reaches for him before David can step out of the car. His wide palm is hot against the back of David’s neck. “I’ll talk to you later.” It’s not a question. 

He doesn’t trust himself to say anything, so he nods, doing his best to hide the grin that wants to bloom across his lips. When he forces himself to turn back towards the door, Patrick’s short nails drag tantalizingly against his skin. 

* * *

_ TinderDavidR: Good night _

David sends the selfie quickly, refusing to second guess his actions. He stares at his phone screen after the message goes through. After showering, he finally feels warm and toasty, comfortable wrapped up in the blankets of his hotel bed. 

Patrick’s reply comes quickly, a similar photo attachment that makes David’s mouth dry. The low level arousal still coursing through his body spikes at the sight. It’s Patrick lying in bed, rolled onto his stomach and grinning at the camera in his hand. Patrick’s bare chested. 

_ Patrick12: Go to sleep, David. _

“Fuck,” David whispers to himself, giddy and overwhelmed. 

He might not know what he  _ should _ do about his feelings, but he knows what he  _ wants  _ to do. He wants to keep talking to Patrick, even if he can’t kiss him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the Check! Please nod. haha. I saw my chance, and I took it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m bad at gauging how long my fics will be. But, I’m 99% sure the next chapter will be the last, thank you for sticking with me.

David doesn’t have a hangover the next morning, but he feels a little delicate around the edges. He gets twisted up in his blankets and tucks a pillow under his chin after telling Alexis that she’s on her own for this morning’s race. Memories of the night before rush forward as he holds his phone, grinning to himself and definitely not squealing at all. 

He pushes his face into the pillow to muffle any sound. 

A Tinder message chirps at David, pulling him from the rush of emotions. He tips his chin back up so he can see the phone screen. With the swipe of a thumb, Patrick’s latest message pops up. 

_ Patrick12: How is your morning going? _

Attached, is a photo of the view out of what David assumes is a conference room window. Snow is falling, and the sky is that grey-white that diffuses the sunlight beautifully. 

_ Patrick12: I want to go back to bed. _

_ TinderDavidR: I’m still in bed. _

He gets another photo response, this one a selfie. David doesn’t curb his smile when he sees the pout on Patrick’s face. 

_ Patrick12: It’s a good thing I like you, or I would hate you right now. _

Biting his lip, David types out a quick message and hits send before he can delete it. 

Almost instantly, Patrick has sent his phone number with a little smiley face emoji. David saves the number to his contacts and opens the camera app. 

David takes a lot of selfies, but he saves almost none of them. He rarely posts any to his Instagram, and the photos on his Tinder profile are mostly ones friends have taken of him. That selfie he sent to Patrick last night was an anomaly that he is going to blame on being tipsy and having lowered judgement. He can’t help the little thrill that shivers through him when he thinks about Patrick happily sending his own back, how comfortable Patrick seems to be in his skin. 

Rolling onto his back and pulling the pillow with him, David holds the phone above him. If he thinks too hard about it, he will talk himself out of even taking the photo. Forcing himself to breathe calmly, he turns half his face into the pillow and looks up at his phone screen to make sure what’s left of his face shows in the shot. 

Patrick texts him back. 

_ Patrick: How am I supposed to act professional at this presser, when you send me things like that? _

That draws a chuckle from David. He’s half hard from the feeling of being in bed and talking to Patrick, but the teasing chide has one of his hands snaking beneath the covers to find some relief. 

_ David: I suppose you’ll have to rely on whatever PR coaching you were given. _

He is so tempted to send another, much more risky, photo, but he restrains himself. It’s enough to remember the way Patrick’s words brushed across his skin when he said how much he wanted to kiss David. Whatever superstition Patrick has—if it’s real or just an excuse to take things slow—David will respect it. 

He wants Patrick too much to sabotage his chances by being as forward as he is used to being. David decides this is a moment of personal growth for him, panting and scrolling back to the Tinder app so he can look at the selfie Patrick sent last night. 

He stares at it, stroking himself lightly and slowly as he drinks in every detail of the man who, only days ago, David had been questioning his general attractiveness. Patrick _ is _ attractive though. It’s in his teasing smile, his warm eyes, his slightly wild curls. It’s in the earnestness that’s rolls off him in waves and makes David feel like the center of the universe when he’s looking at him. It’s in the way he makes David feel like he could tell him anything and everything when David has a thorough track record of running off lovers by showing them too much of himself. 

David lets his phone thud to the mattresses he turns onto his side. His eyes slip closed, strokes more firm and faster now as he thinks back to the warmth of Patrick’s hand, so fleeting against his skin last night. It takes less than five minutes for David to come after imagining all the ways he and Patrick could fit together. 

* * *

The gallery isn’t closed while David is in Russia, but it has limited hours and is mostly being used as a studio for some artist friends. When Alexis guilted him into accompanying her, he’d had to trust his dad’s assistant to make sure things run smoothly in his absence. 

“No, no, no, no,” David mutters to himself, standing stiffly in the lobby of one of the arenas the next day. He doesn’t have time for this, and he sure as fuck doesn’t have the nerves to deal with this from halfway around the world. A call from the security company right before he’s supposed to meet up with Patrick for their second date isn’t a great start. 

Brenda picks up on the second ring. “David, it’s being handled,” she calmly assured him, cutting off his imminent breakdown. “Your father is with the police, but it doesn’t look like anything was stolen.” 

“How would he know?” David shrieks into the phone as he starts pacing along the wall. “He’s never been there!” 

“Okay,” Brenda says after a breath. “I just got a message from Johnny. After your inventory lists were inspected, nothing seems missing. He says it wasn’t a break-in.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, David sees Patrick walking over to him. He groans as relief and frustration war inside over the news. “If it wasn’t a break-in, then what happened?” 

Patrick stops by his side and gives David a concerned look which David shakes his head at and mouths, _ “I’m sorry.” _

“Oh,” Brenda says, cryptically. Then she says, “Apparently some people used the space for a...party.” 

“A party.” David says, thinking about the people who have had exclusive access to the security codes. He presses a palm to his forehead and sucks in a deep breath. 

The touch of a hand to his back startles him into flinching away, but Patrick reaches back out after meeting his eyes. It feels nice when Patrick starts rubbing his hand between David’s shoulder blades. 

“It’s salvageable. I’ll get a cleaning crew to take care of things.” Brenda's voice goes a little softer, hesitant as she suggests, “You might want to reach out to your associates. If you want to press charges for trespassing, you’ll need to let your lawyer know.” 

David doesn’t want to do that. How fucking embarrassing would _ that _ be. He grimaces. “Um, no. No, just change the security codes and email the new ones to me. I’ll deal with everything else when I get back. Thank you for your help.” 

He ends the call after Brenda wishes him a good day. 

“Everything alright?” Patrick asks when David pockets his phone. 

The urge to call everyone he trusted to look after his gallery is strong, but David knows they won’t answer. If they did, he knows they’d just make a joke out of accidentally triggering the security alarm and leaving the gallery in shambles. Short of flying back home so he can personally take inventory, there’s not a lot David can do about what happened. 

“Mm, just that the people I left in charge of my gallery decided to throw a rave there last night and didn’t set the security alarm which triggered an automatic call to the police.” He presses his hands to his face, shaking it once again, because he cannot believe his luck and his own stupidity. Why didn’t he just close for the week? 

Patrick’s hand has stopped rubbing back and forth, but he hasn’t removed it yet. “Wow, that’s intense. Was there damage to any of your installations?” 

David wants to curl up and wrap himself in blankets until he doesn’t have to think anymore. But he also wants to go on this date with Patrick while he has the chance. 

“No,” he says, straightening the front of his sweater and forcing himself to get it together. “My dad went over there and checked it out. Once a cleaning crew gets done, things will be good as new.” 

Patrick looks like he wants to say something, but decides against it. His jaw works for a moment before he finally says, “If you need to go take care of any legal things, it’s okay.” His voice is gentle. “We can take a rain check.” 

“No!” David recoils at the idea, before he realizes how loud he spoke. He tries again, reaching out to squeeze his hand around Patrick’s arm. “No. Everything has been dealt with. And I want to,” his eyes slide over to the TV screen proclaiming the women’s ice hockey match between Team Canada and Team Switzerland, “watch the hockey play with you.” He looks back at Patrick, smiling hopefully. 

Patrick smiles widely, “Great. But it's a hockey match, not a play.” He pats David’s back before dropping his hand, giving him a sly look. “This is your first time at any Team Canada matches, isn’t it?” 

David doesn’t feel remorse over that fact, but he does feel like he _ should _ feel bad about not actively supporting his own country. He’s seen more France-centric events than Canadian ones. David chooses to hum noncommittally. 

“It’s alright. The women’s teams are a pretty fantastic place to start. Though, I’m a little worried about how the men’s team will look to you in comparison, if I’m able to convince you to go to any.” Patrick starts leading David towards one of the interior doors leading to the stadium seats. 

Just as David is about to retort, a little girl with an oversized Canadian jersey of some sort (probably hockey related given the setting) breaks away from the group of adults she was with. She stops suddenly in front of Patrick, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. “I know you!” 

Patrick brushes his hand along the small of David’s back, giving him an apologetic look before he squats. “You do, huh? I like your sweater. Wickenheiser is impressive.” 

David isn’t a fan of small children—they’re loud and messy, and he can’t imagine having the responsibility to keep one alive and well—but he can privately admit it’s a little heartwarming to watch Patrick talk to this girl. She’s grinning at him and bouncing in place as she excitedly tells him she got to meet _ Wick _ yesterday. 

“Wow,” Patrick exclaims. “That’s so cool!” 

The adults that the girl snuck away from rush over, surprise and relief on their faces when they see who she’s with. One of the men is wearing what David thinks is probably a Newark themed jersey (he only vaguely remembers what Patrick’s team colors are from the Google search he did the other day). 

“Mister Brewer, I’m so sorry!” One of the women apologizes, tugging at the girl and chastising her lightly. “Charlotte, you can't run off like that!” 

David takes a couple steps away when he sees a few phones come out and the distinct click of photos being taken. Patrick has been exceedingly relaxed about his teammates (and Tinder) knowing his sexual preferences, but that’s very different from being photographed with an unknown man, attending a hockey play. 

Patrick poses with the little girl after assuring the adults that he isn’t bothered. After signing her jersey and a couple booklets for the adults, Patrick heads over to David. 

He runs a hand over his hair, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t really thinking about being recognized.” 

“Wearing the Canadian flag on your back isn’t the best camouflage,” David teases. He presses his lips together in a small smile before saying, “It’s fine.” 

Patrick is wearing a color block tracksuit with the word “Canada” emblazoned across the front in red. It’s not subtle, but then in this crowd, David is pretty sure _ he _ is the one standing out in his black skirted pants and two toned Valentino sweater. Most everyone around them is wearing some variation of sports themed clothing. 

As they head inside the area and towards their seats, Patrick says, “I’m not as fashionable as you. It’s just easier to wear the merch the front office throws at me.” When David’s head snaps over to give him a horrified look, Patrick is smirking. He’s making fun. 

Their seats are close to the rink, and a few rows back from the glass that David eyes warily as he wonders why the barrier is needed. Before long, the bouncer is hyping the audience as both teams skate out, one after another. The excitement is practically palpable. 

“Why do they have cages on their masks?” David asks, grimacing. “How dangerous is this game?” 

Patrick leans over so he can be heard over the crowd. “It’s just a precaution.”

David is skeptical. There had been a teammate of Sebastien’s that wore a _ fake tooth _ from where the real one got knocked out the year before. “Do you wear a cage?” 

“I’ve got a visor on my helmet.” Patrick assures David, like that's acceptable. “The women’s teams are the only ones required to wear cages because they’re amateur.” 

Grimacing, David says, “That makes zero sense.” He says it quietly though, because he’s distracted by the players on the ice where they’ve lined up for the puck drop. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve only gotten a busted face a few times.” Patrick grins over at David. 

David’s eyes track over Patrick’a face and land on the little scar on his eyebrow. His gaze drops down to his chin where he clocks _ another _ scar. He’s tempted to reach out and trace over the old injuries, but they’re in public, and he doesn’t want to make things harder for Patrick. 

“Fun,” he says with a frown before turning back to the game I front of them. He wraps his arms around his middle and hunches over to ward off the chill from the rink. 

Bumping his shoulder into David, Patrick says, “I promise I’m always careful. Most players are. It’s not like we generally look for a reason to bleed.” 

The topic has gotten much more serious than David thinks it should be. This is only their second date, and they’ve known each other less than two weeks. As much as David likes Patrick, he knows he can’t voice the kind of concern he feels lurking inside. Besides, Patrick plays hockey for a living and he signed up for the inherent risk to his body. 

He looks over at Patrick. “Hmm, guess I’ll have to check out one of your games and see if you’re lying or not.” 

That has Patrick grinning, cheeks flushed pink from the chill. “I’ll make sure you have a ticket at Will Call tomorrow.”

David smiles to himself and attempts to follow what’s happening on the ice. 

* * *

“Um, David,” Alexis starts, fiddling with the hair hanging by her shoulder. “Do you have anything you want to tell me?” 

They’re at dinner, and David is enjoying a very good eggplant Parmesan. He glances at her after setting his glass of wine down. “Yes, that perfume smells like something our mother wore in the seventies.” 

After making an annoyed little scoff, Alexis presses on. She picks her phone up. “_ No _, David. I think you owe me a thank you.” 

“What for?” He asks, genuinely confused and mildly irritated at the smug tilt to his sister’s mouth. 

She taps at her phone before brandishing at him. “Who is this curly haired little button? Hmm?” 

David feels the color drain from his face when he sees a fan photo of Patrick from yesterday. David is caught in the background, close by, and looking at Patrick with much too much fondness. He grabs the phone from Alexis’s hand to see how she found it. 

“Are you following Team Canada on Instagram?” David is momentarily distracted by this random fact. 

“Duh. I might be dating a Frenchman, but I’m still going to support my country at the Olympics, David.” She snatches her phone back. “Besides, when I found out Sebastien Raine would be here, I wanted to keep tabs or whatever. I know how devastated you were when he dumped you.” 

A myriad of emotions courses through David at Alexis’s explanation, but he finds himself needing to remind her, “That was four years ago! I was _ not _ devastated.” 

Alexis gives him a withering look. “Um, yes, you were. When I was stuck in Cambodia, it took you, like, four days longer than usual to get me that fake passport. My manicure was _ ruined _ because I had to wash strangers clothes in order to have food for Holly and me to eat.” 

Groaning, David ignores the stab of stale guilt. He glares. “You knew my ex was here and you didn’t tell me?” 

“Well! How was I supposed to know you would be establishing yourself as a puck bunny?” She straightens in her seat, gaze flitting around the table. She glances back at him. “There are, like, fifteen different sports being played here with people from all over! You don’t even _ like _ hockey.” 

“So! You don’t like skiing,” David argues. 

“I look super cute in those ski suits,” she defends. Her hands flutter as she frowns. “That’s not the point, David. Tell me about,” Alexis looks at her phone again, “_ Patrick. _” 

David shakes his head. “Ugh!” He picks up his wine glass again and takes a deep drink of it. 

Alexis leans over the table, voice low like she’s keeping a secret. “Does he know about you and Sebastien?” Her grimace is overly sympathetic, which makes David frown harder. 

“I don’t know!” He hisses.

“David,” she chides. “All the advice columns say building a relationship on lies is bad.” 

“I’m not,” He waves his hands around with a grimace, “_ building a relationship on lies _ here.” 

“But you just _ said _ he doesn’t know about Sebastien. And they’re teammates right now. That’s, like, complicated.” She frowns haughtily at him. 

David growls through his teeth. “I said I don’t _ know _ if he knows about Sebastien. Why are you so obsessed with this?” 

“I just don’t want you crying all over the place when it blows up in your face, David! It’s not good for your skin. The bags under your eyes get _ so bad.” _

“My skin is perfect.” David hisses, outraged at the Alexis’s gall. He scoots his chair back and flags down their waiter. When the man comes over he says, “Can I please have this wrapped up to go? My digestion can’t take all the judgement right now.” His gaze is accusatory when he glares at Alexis. 

She just huffs as the waiter awkwardly whisks David’s plate away to put it in a to-go container. The silence is heavy between them until Alexis shrugs her shoulders and her eyes soften. 

“Is he nice?” She asks. 

David has been looking just over her shoulder, arms crossed. He glances at her. “I think so.” 

The waiter comes back and David stands so he doesn’t have to look at the small, genuine smile on his sister’s face. “I can’t go to Ernesto’s race. Patrick asked me to his game tomorrow morning.” 

He ignores the high “_ Oohhh _” that trails after him. 

* * *

_ David: Are you sure you want me here? _

He sends the text while waiting in line at Will Call. The energy around him is high. Someone nearby was talking about the importance of this semi-final game. It makes David nervous. 

Patrick probably won’t have time to answer his phone when it’s so close to the start of the game. But David sends another text anyway, because his anxiety is spiking and he’s massively uncomfortable in this setting, alone. 

_ Patrick: Only if you want to be here. I know you don’t do sports. But, I am liking the idea of having another friendly face in the crowd that isn’t related to me by blood. _

Oh _ God _. His family is here? David looks at the ticket that was just handed to him. 

_ Patrick: Don’t worry. You’re not sitting with my parents. I wouldn’t put you through that just yet. _

_ David: Shouldn’t you be doing sport things in preparation for your role? I don’t want to be the reason you don’t perform well. _

_ Patrick: I’m thinking of you as an incentive, not a distraction. But you are right. I need to put my phone away. Thank you for coming to the match, David. _

David almost sends _ When can we kiss, then? _ But he finds just enough self-restraint to keep from begging for something as simple as a kiss. He goes to the concession stand instead, and orders two things of nachos and cheese and a large drink. If he can’t have a kiss, he’ll indulge in greasy and sugary carbs instead. 

The ticket Patrick set aside for David is literally ringside this time, but it’s on the opposite side of the area where the teams sit. He takes a moment to silently thank anyone listening for that. The likelihood of him being able to stay seated so close to both Patrick and Sebastien is slim. He’d prefer to never see Sebastien again, and the risk of Sebastien noticing him now is just too much to risk. 

Maybe there is something, deep down, to what Alexis said about truth and lies. 

David stuffs too-hot cheese covered nachos into his mouth and suffers through the burn. 

He has no fucking idea what’s happening in the game, but he sees Patrick out on the ice. Thankfully, his beautiful face has some semblance of protection thanks to a visor wrapped around the front. He swears Patrick looks over at him and winks when there’s a pregnant pause as all the players are positioned for the game to begin. David might be imagining it though. 

Up and down, and up and down the rink everyone goes. Even this close. David has a hard time keeping up with where the puck is as it’s passed and lost on the ice. A skirmish breaks out against the glass barely three meters from him, and David this _ Oh, that’s what the barrier is for _. 

Then he’s got all over with _ Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck _ when he realizes one of the men in red and white is Sebastien Raine. Just as the panic sets in, the men skate off, and it looks like Sebastien’s was victorious—he pushes himself quickly towards the far goal, dodging around two players from the opposition.

Sucking down some pop, and wishing it was a lot more alcoholic, David searches the jerseys for Patrick’s number twelve. He’s not on the ice at the moment. Instead, he’s sitting with the rest of the team, looking up at the video display hanging down from the middle of the ceiling. David gets distracted by the way Patrick is chewing on his mouth guard, even from across the rink.

During the first intermission (yesterday, he’d learned there are two intermissions), David stays in his seat and checks the Team Canada Instagram account. It’s weak, but he scrolls through the tagged photos, searching for any more photos fans have posted of Patrick. 

There are six. David is in four of them, because they’d all been taken before the women’s hockey game they attended together. When he taps on the photo with that little girl who’d stopped them, he realizes Patrick’s account is tagged as well. 

It’s private. 

So is David’s, but that doesn’t stop David from frowning at his phone. 

He feels agitated as he gives the anxiety swirling around his head room to grow—less _ permission _ to do so and more lack of ability to keep it at bay currently. For whatever terribly advised reason, he finds himself googling “Patrick Brewer boyfriend” before he can stop himself. 

He’s really freaking out about this. Does Patrick want to keep his sexuality—specifically, _ David _—secret from the public? Sports aren’t known for their open-mindedness, after all. That’s one thing Sebastien had been able to make David remember about the life of a professional hockey player. 

The Google results are useless. David can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe Patrick has been diligent about his past male lovers. Maybe Patrick has gotten sloppy here in Sochi because of the pressure to play well for Canada. David doesn’t want to fuck up anything for Patrick, but. 

He also made the shaky promise to himself after that failed throuple with the two bakery owners to never agree to be anyone’s dirty secret again. As nice as Patrick is, and as much as David really, really wants to kiss him, he can’t go through anything like what happened with Sebastien again. He just can’t. 

Fucking Alexis. David sighs, listlessly watches a crew of skaters scrape snow off the ice. He’s going to have to have a talk with Patrick sometime soon. 

But when? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The women’s ice hockey teams really are badass, and they don’t get paid like their male counterparts. 🤬😤


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it’s finally finished! I apologize that it took me so long to get this done, but I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Note about the rating: I dropped it down to Teen and up because the only sex scene is the scene where David jerks himself off, and it’s not explicit at all. This fic just didn’t feel like it needed sex. 🤷🏻♀️💟

David is on his feet before he realizes what he’s doing, breath caught in his chest as he watches the back-and-forth between Patrick and one of the players from the other team. Suddenly, Patrick has the puck and is snapping with his stick thing to slap the puck towards the goal. It flies right past one of the goalie’s skates despite a mad dash to block the shot. 

The little light blinks above the netting, and David’s own cheering is absorbed into the roar of the arena around him. He watches Patrick get mobbed by his teammates on the ice so they can congratulate him. Pride wells up inside David, and he wonders if this is the sort of feeling that most sports fans experience, though he hadn’t been nearly invested in the events on the ice yesterday when he’d watched that game. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he attempts to temper the strength of his smile. 

While the players head back to their markers so they can go after the puck all over again, Patrick skates a lazy, wide arc towards his spot. David has to press his lips together when Patrick glides by, grinning right at him. It feels like a private moment despite the cameras trained on the ice and the fans surrounding David. 

By the end of the game, David’s feels jittery with excitement, absorbed from the crowd and sourced from within at the sight of Patrick’s competence. He might not know hockey rules, but he can appreciate the way Patrick uses every ounce of his compact build to get the job done. Canada wins the game, and the team celebrates in a puppy pile that gives David conflicting thoughts about sweaty bodies sliding together. 

He waits until the arena is less crowded and the hockey teams have left the ice before he files up the steps and into the lobby. His phone feels heavy in his pocket as he wavers over what to do next. 

The only time Sebastien had asked him to watch him play was the final game of the season final. He’d been given clear instructions on where to wait and what to say to get access to the locker room. David hadn’t actually watched the game; he’d been stuck in the general standing room only section because Sebastien hadn’t gotten him a ticket. Which was fine, because the sex afterwards had been hot enough to make David forgive the awkwardness.

Obviously, sex isn’t on the table for David now. Patrick made that line pretty clear when he asked to wait before they even kissed. It’s better this way, David thinks. Still, not having an agenda to follow makes him feel unmoored. He wants to see Patrick again,  _ now.  _ He wants to touch him and see what that flush of victory looks like up close. David wants...so much. 

But he also has the weight of unspoken conversations anchoring him at least enough not to do anything too reckless. As easy and tempting as it would be for him to flirt and push his way past Patrick’s boundaries, David knows those same lines are keeping him level-headed. 

He texts Patrick as he gets swept up in the last of the crowd leaving the arena. 

_ David: I think you earned a gold star for that.  _

_ David: Come by my suite after you’re done?  _

He sends the hotel information in another text and tries not to guess how long it might take for Patrick to respond. David needs to know what Patrick wants—the sooner, the better. 

He doesn’t think his heart is willing to listen to reason for much longer. 

* * *

“You have no idea,” Patrick’s voice is low and promising, “how much I’d like that.” 

He called to tell David he didn’t think coming over tonight was a good idea. It takes a lot more strength than David would like to admit for him to keep from begging Patrick. He keeps his pleas to himself, locked behind the need to do things right for once. For himself. 

David leans back with his free hand braces against his bed as he sighs heavily, wistfully. “You could always elaborate.” He’s merely human, after all. 

That earns a chuckle. “Suffice to say, it’s a lot.” He makes a sound that David can’t quite parse. “I’m a little bit drunk.” The warmth in Patrick’s voice has David’s stomach swooping with anticipation and want. 

David can’t help but grin at the slow way Patrick confesses that. “If you’re using words like ‘suffice,’ then I don’t think you’re all that drunk.” He takes a breath and stuffs away his lust for now. “ _ But _ I can see how being alone with me and a hotel room might be at least slightly tempting. And I wouldn’t want to jinx anything for you.” 

“Not a jinx. And I’d say  _ very _ tempting.” Patrick corrects. 

“I wasn’t planning on tempting you very much, only a little.” David pauses, wondering if he should even hint that he had wanted to talk a little more seriously. He settles with, “I just wanted to see you.” 

“Mm, I’d like that a lot. Hey, if you can pry yourself out of bed early, we could get breakfast. I’ve got practice mid morning and a whole afternoon slated for media stuff.” 

Just then, Alexis barges into David’s suite. Her hair is pulled up in a messy (not artfully so) bun and her face is bare of any makeup. David sits up and waves his phone at her. 

He mouths, “ _ I’m on the phone! _ ” But she just huffs at him and heads straight for his washroom. 

“Is that asking too much?” Patrick asks when David accidentally pauses too long. There’s an indulgent laugh in his voice that makes David’s stomach swoop despite the interruption from Alexis. 

Standing up and narrowing his eyes at his sister, David assures Patrick, “Not necessarily. How early are you talking?” 

Patrick hesitates before suggesting, “Seven?” 

David grimaces and shakes his head no. He can’t bring himself to say  _ “Yes,” _ so he just hums in a hopefully positive way. 

“I can promise amazing waffles.” Patrick sounds so hopeful. It’s endearing. “And decent company.” 

“Waffles sound promising.” He hears bottles clink together, and he whips around to glare at Alexis’s back. “I guess I could put in an appearance.” 

“Don’t put in too much effort,” Patrick says dryly. “I know how much you value your sleep.” 

“Text me the place. I’ll set my alarm,” David says decisively. “I need to get off here. My sister is ransacking my room for some unspecified reason.” 

“Uh oh,” Patrick chuckles. 

After he hangs up, David rounds on Alexis. “Why are you  _ here _ ?” He complains. “This is not your room.”

Alexis is pawing through the toiletries on his ensuite washroom counter, after having dirtied one of his face cloths. She unscrews the lid off his imported Italian hydration serum. “I need this. My skin is practically parched from all the cold, dry air.” 

“That’s what you get for insisting on going to all those races outside.” 

“I’m being a supportive girlfriend, David. Sacrifices have to be made.” Alexis carefully applies the serum. 

“I shouldn’t be the one making the sacrifices for your relationship.” 

When he crosses his arms at her, Alexis says, “You owe me. If I hadn’t invited you here, you wouldn’t have met that cute little hockey player.” 

David narrows his eyes. “You’re supposed to use that before bed.” He says it snottily, unwilling to agree to anything she just said.

Alexis lets out a disgruntled huff. “I  _ know _ that! But my skin is literally dry as the desert right now, and we’re going to dinner with Ernesto’s family in, like, two hours.” 

She does look tense, and David steps into the washroom so he can hand over a tube of lotion. “Use this next,” he says softly, still annoyed but able to recognize an emergency when he sees one.

Alexis’s “Thank you,” comes out strained, but the set of her shoulders looks looser. 

David rolls his eyes. “I expect you to buy me replacements when we get back home.” 

His phone dings happily. 

_ Patrick: See you tomorrow. I’ll buy you all the waffles you can eat.  _

David smiles down at his phone as he replies.

_ David: Be prepared. I can eat an alarming number of waffles.  _

“Are you sexting? Ew, David!” Alexis cringes with her whole body, hands against her chest. “I’m literally in the room with you.” 

“Then get out,” he suggests with raised brows for emphasis. “You already pillaged my personal care items. Go away.” 

_ Patrick: I think I can handle it. _

“David!” Alexis is giving him a grossed out expression, still standing in front of him. “Stop doing that with your face!” 

With a growl, David stands up and brushes past her to open his suite door. “ _ Leave _ .” 

Alexis stomps her feet before heading over as she insists, “Okay, but you need to be ready to go in  _ two hours _ .” 

“Bye!” David says breezily before slamming the door closed in her face. 

* * *

David isn’t late on purpose. But agreeing to meet at seven was wishful thinking. 

Patrick’s knee is bouncing under the table when David rushes into the cafe, unwinding his scarf and hoping like hell he didn’t ruin things already. He sees the moment Patrick registers that David is there, Patrick’s face smoothing and morphing into what looks like a relieved smile before that turns into a smirk as he stands to welcome David over. 

“It’s an ungodly hour,” David attempts to defend himself as he takes his coat off and hands it over when Patrick gestures for it. 

Patrick doesn’t lean in to kiss him when he takes the coat, but his other hand is warm and wide where he presses it to David’s back. The black wool of his coat folds thickly over the red and white puff of Patrick’s where it is draped across the vacant chair to his left. 

“I appreciate the sacrifice,” Patrick’s face looks almost flushed when he sits down. It’s cute, and it makes David feel better about the smile trying to crack free. 

“I heard there would be really good waffles.” 

Patrick grins at him, this open and sincere smile that is totally undeserved and that David desperately wants to see over and over again. 

Patrick nods and says, “I already ordered them. The, uh,” he shifts in his chair and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “the server seemed pretty busy so I just ordered all the waffles. I didn’t know what you’d like, and I was worried he would kick me out if I didn’t order.” 

“Oh,” David says softly, amused and embarrassed at the same time. He taps the empty tabletop between them idly. “What do you mean by ‘all the waffles?’”

Smoothing a hand over the back of his neck, Patrick says, “I think there are five different types. And eggs. I ordered a lot of eggs.” 

It’s really, unfairly cute, and David doesn’t know how he’s supposed to not reach over and pull Patrick into a kiss for all of that. The waffles make an appearance, along with two extra servers and a total of seven plates. By the time everything is set down, Patrick and David are doing their best not to laugh too loudly at the sight of their overflowing, very small cafe table. 

“Did you forget anything?” David asks once he has breath enough to do so. “We must be missing  _ something _ .” 

Patrick’s face is well and truly red now, but laughter is still rolling off him. He shakes his head before offering David a fork. “I hope you brought your appetite.” 

David has never been one to say no to food, especially when said for is warm, soft, and delicate. He cuts into the closest waffle—one with walnuts and decorated with freshly cut cherries—and says, “I think I’ll manage.” 

Patrick waits until David’s boggling over his first bite before cutting into the one with dark chocolate and caramel sauce. Instead of taking the bite, he holds his fork out as David finishes his first bite. 

“This is what I had my first time here. It’s amazing.” 

It’s really fucking forward, David thinks a little histerically, for Patrick to be feeding him so casually in public. But that doesn’t stop him from leaning forward and carefully taking the offering into his mouth and sliding it off the rings neatly. He tells himself as he leans back in his chair, eyes falling shut, that this is just some silly thing. It feels good to have Patrick’s eyes on him, to have that small, teasing smile directed at him. 

While David chews, Patrick cuts off a bite for himself. He says, “I’m really glad you came.” That smile deepens at the corners until a dimple pops out, and he adds, “Even if I only have about twenty minutes left until I need to be back.” 

David slows his eating, fork paused midway to his mouth, and frowns. This is why he doesn’t  _ do _ early. He’s terrible at mornings unless someone is physically pulling him out of bed or already up from the day before. Even the promise of waffles and a cute boy weren’t enough to get him out of bed on time. He says, “I’m bad at mornings.” He’s grimacing, and he looks away from Patrick to focus on the glass of water at his left. There’s a sweat ring of condensation on the table. 

Patrick doesn’t roll his eyes or give him a judge-y look. David didn’t even realize he was tensed for it until Patrick just laughs. 

“You warned me.” He says it like he isn’t going to hold a grudge about it, maybe even finds David’s tardiness endearing. 

Relief washes through him before Patrick’s words knife through the warmth his expression inspires in David. 

“Warned,” David gets breathy, a little higher pitched as he shores up his resolve. “Um...” He clears his throat and glances around them before saying, “I’ve been wondering about something. I know, with your career, sometimes it can be prudent to keep certain details about yourself private.” 

Patrick nods slowly. He says, “I mean, I’m not giving out my apartment number out to the press or anything.” 

David fakes a grin because he just wants to get through this, get an answer so he can stop letting fantasy war with reality. “Good call, but I was talking more along the lines of significant others. This week, it’s all just been very chill.” He cuts past his own bullshit, and says, “Aren’t you worried that people will interpret things...between us?” 

The words feel brittle, and he feels both made of glass and like nothing could rock him off his footing. Patrick isn’t Sebastien—not so obviously—from what David can tell, so it probably won’t be a cruel or flippant let-down. 

Patrick ducks his head once before he looks at David from beneath those golden lashes. “It’s something I’ve thought about,” he admits. “I’ve spent...a really long time thinking about all of this, especially when Adams decided to come out publicly just after I was drafted. Seeing all the support he got helped me feel like maybe I could be myself too. I don’t know if I’m ready to make a press statement or anything, but I don’t want to hide anymore.” He sighs, “I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for.” 

It’s better than he’d prepared to hear. David shakes his head. “No, that makes sense. You’re a person,” David tries to assure Patrick that he isn’t judging him, trying to fight back the elation and all the possibility he feels building up in him now. He says, “I know how hard it is to be in the public eye and be expected to fit into a box or sit on a pedestal for the public. You deserve to decide when and how to share information about yourself.” 

It would be easy to leave it at that. Decide they’d talked enough about it for now, but David finds himself needing to speak up. He’s worked hard to learn to be better to himself, and part of that includes tackling the hard parts now instead of leaving himself open for heartbreak later. 

“I’ve been here before. I’ve dated closeted people who had a fan base.” David says carefully, not quite looking Patrick in the eye. “It’s never been a great experience.” 

Patrick gives him an unreadable but heavy look before he says, “I like you. I think I could like you a lot more.” The words are quiet, and his eyes are sincere. He sits up a little straighter. “Before I flew out, one of my closest friends talked me into dipping my toe into taking to guys. I wanted to have fun, and I have. With you.” 

David nods. It’s terrifying how he can’t quite breathe as Patrick reaches across the table to touch the back of his hand. 

“I’m not officially out, but I’m not hiding anymore.” It’s simple, and still potentially and probably so complicated. “I like you,” he repeats. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to hide you.”

David doesn’t say “No,” and he doesn’t decide to sit out this rollercoaster ride. Because there’s something about Patrick that makes David want to trust. This isn’t exactly what David wants to hear, but it’s not the worst case scenario he’d been building up in his mind. Patrick’s words feel  _ real _ .

He flexes his fingers on the edge of the table. “Okay,” he agrees with a tentative smile that slowly widens as Patrick lets out a reliever sigh. “For the record,” David says, “I like you too.” 

“Good.” 

He watches the curve of Patrick’s mouth go from flat to curved until he’s grinning fully. It’s blinding, and David doesn’t know how that smile looks so different now than that first time he saw a picture of it. It’s the same one, but David feels like a deal has been struck and he might just have come out in the black. 

David tucks his lips into a smile of his own. “Okay.” 

* * *

The buzzer blares one final time. Alexis’s manicured nails are biting into his forearms where she grips him tightly in excitement. Their yells are immediately swallowed into the cacophony of the crowd so much so that he can’t even hear himself. 

“Yay, Canada!” He catches the movement of Alexis’s mouth, her chin tipped back and the toque on her head this close to falling off. 

Sweat has beaded up on David’s forehead and his hands are still clammy from the nerves of watching the game. But he looks past his sister, to the rink where Team Canada has spilled across the scarred white ice. The national anthem plays, and he can feel something deep in him start to respond and tears gather at the corners of his eyes. It’s ridiculous. It’s just a game, and he isn’t even sure of the rules. 

Still, it’s almost impossible not to be moved by the sheer amount of emotion in the arena. David tracks Patrick’s movement on the ice and feels pride and happiness and relief bursting from within. He’s really fucking happy for Patrick. 

Alexis presses close enough to shout so he can hear her when she asks, “Are you going to help him celebrate?” Her eyebrows go up and she squirms next to him teasingly. 

Patrick had asked him to come to the final game, to be his  _ good luck charm _ . And there’s nothing David wants more than to finally, finally, claim a kiss from that wicked, adorable mouth of his. He’s all too aware of the lanyard hanging around his neck, tucked beneath his sweater so it’s safe. 

He tugs it free now and wags the laminated card, grinning. Alexis squeezes his arm again. 

* * *

Patrick’s tee is plastered to his chest when David is finally allowed past security. He smells like beer and sweat, but his whole face transforms when he catches sight of David. 

“Hi.” David doesn’t touch him, doesn’t know what’s okay here surrounded by all of Patrick’s teammates and their friends and family. 

Patrick goes to pull him in for a hug, but stops with an apologetic smile. “I don’t want to mess up your clothes.” His eyes run over David’s body slowly, seemingly distracted by what he sees. A thrill shoots through David in response. 

“I can get them cleaned,” David offers as he takes a half step closer, waiting and hoping for that hug. 

Patrick pulls him in tight. His hands settle on David’s lower back, and David can feel the warmth seeping through the material there. It’s easy to drop his own arms over Patrick’s shoulders and lean in. This close, it’s nothing to brush his lips against Patrick’s ear and say, “Congratulations.” 

“David Rose?” A very unwanted voice cuts through, too close for comfort.

Patrick’s fingers tighten at his back before releasing David. He watches David swallow. 

“Hello, Sebastien.” David gives the man his iciest smile. He should know better. 

Sebastien looks David over contemplatively before turning his gaze on Patrick with a knowing glint in his eye. “Well, isn’t this interesting.” 

“Congratulations on the victory,” David says quickly, not enjoying the mental math Patrick seems to be doing. 

The sharp smile that spreads across Sebastien’s mouth has David’s stomach sinking before he even says anything. “You’re very good at congratulating winners.” 

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ . David gives a dismissive hum before saying, “It was nice to see you again, but you should really get back to your girlfriend over there.” 

Sebastien doesn’t even look over to where David can see a very tall, very tan woman wearing a Raine sweater. “You’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, Brewer.” He turns his look to Patrick, teeth too white under the lighting. “Let me know if you need your captain to assist. I remember how much of a handful this one could be.” He seems to consider something for a moment before saying, “I think I still have the photos too, if you want to see.” 

“We definitely don’t want your assistance.” Patrick says, eyes hardened as he glares at Sebastien. 

Sebastien chuckles before leaning in to give David an unwanted pat on the shoulder. He uses the proximity to drop a taunting kiss too close to David’s ear, in that spot that drives David crazy when he’s turned on. 

David steps back and bares his teeth in a pantomime of a smile. “Fuck off,” he says quietly, vehemently. 

That just pulls another laugh from Sebastien, but he must be satisfied, because he says, “Okay, you two. This has been fun.” Like they’re old friends parting ways. 

When he’s melted back into the crowd, David takes a breath and isn’t sure what to say. 

“That wasn’t what I was expecting,” Patrick comments before meeting David’s eyes. 

David shakes his head. “I knew him years ago. It wasn’t a good part of my history.” He grimaces, thinking about how very little of his dating past was a good part. 

Patrick winces in sympathy. “Okay, I’m not going to let that jerk ruin tonight though.” His hands come back up to settle at David’s lower back, and he smiles genuinely. “This is the best night of my life.” 

David smiles, amused and endeared at Patrick’s excitement. “I am pretty great, aren't I?” He teases.

“I think so.” 

Patrick pushes up just enough to close the gap between them. His lips are chapped but soft around the edges when he kisses David, finally. It’s lingering, promising, and chaste for all that it ignites David’s buried desires instantaneously. Patrick’s hands slide up David’s back, and David is helpless to reel him in by neck once again. He leans into the kiss and is met with an equal force. 

* * *

_ Five Months Later _

“I almost forgot,” Patrick says later, sitting up and pulling his jeans back up his legs. 

David doesn’t move from where he’s stretched out on the floor behind the desk in his office. Every muscle in his body is relaxed, and he could fall asleep right here in the late afternoon sun spilling in through the windows. He makes an interested noise as he watches Patrick from lowered lashes. 

Patrick sits back down after grabbing the styrofoam box he’d set down a half an hour ago. Crossing his legs, he settles next to David and flips the lid open. “Happy anniversary.” 

David is well aware of the day, and Patrick  _ knows _ about David’s hang-up over anniversaries. But Patrick thinks it cute to mess with David like this, and David is frustratingly charmed by the way Patrick still seems to want him. 

Sitting up and straightening out his shirt, David looks at the double decker waffle covered in powdered sugar and cut strawberries. There’s a cheap candle in the shape of the number five stuck into the middle. 

“I brought a lighter,” Patrick grins as he fishes said item from a pocket to flick the wick into life. 

“Dirty play,” David whines as he watches Patrick light the candle and carefully hold the box between them. He’s smiling. “How am I supposed to say no to this?” 

Patrick leans over to drop a kiss on David’s shoulder. “You’re not supposed to say no. You’re supposed to blow out the candle and enjoy the rest of the night.” 

David nods, feeling loose and happier than he can ever remember being. It’s easy to forget to be nervous or anxious when Patrick is looking at him like there’s no question that another anniversary is just around the corner. No question that they’ll be together. 

David blows the candle out with Patrick before plucking a strawberry up and holding it out for his boyfriend. Patrick’s tongue slicks between his fingers before he takes the fruit into his mouth. 

They eat the waffle together with their fingers, trading kisses between bites until only a few crumbs and the candle are left. David flops back down and rests his head against Patrick’s chest while he basks. 

Five minutes later, David blinks awake from the light doze he’d fallen into when his phone dings with a notification. 

Patrick’s fingers card through David’s hair as he checks his phone. 

It’s an Instagram notification. 

It’s a photo of the empty box lying haphazardly between his and Patrick’s legs, their ankles tangled together, and the skyline highlighted behind the setting sun before them. 

The caption reads: Happy five months, babe. 

Patrick tagged David’s profile. 

Dropping his phone, David reaches up and curves his hand behind Patrick’s neck to pull him in for another kiss, doesn’t want to stop kissing him. But he has to pull back just enough to confess, “I love you.” 

Patrick’s eyes are warm as honey when I says, “I love you,” without hesitation. 

  
  


End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to remind everyone that this fic is working with a fictitious professional hockey league. Sadly, there have been no professional hockey players that have come out publicly. I hope the NHL will someday soon become an organization that is truly supportive of the queer community and that any queer employees in their ranks will be able to feel comfortable enough to come out if they want. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me for so long and for being patient!

**Author's Note:**

> This one hundred percent would not have happened without the dedicated support and cheerleading efforts from a very lovely person I am happy and thankful to have met in this fandom. They know who they are (I’m keeping it vague until author reveals), and I hope they never doubt how helpful I found their encouragement to be.
> 
> A huge thank you goes to thingswithwings for running this event and for being so helpful and flexible with me! Thank you!


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